


Twenty Feet In The Air

by Schizzar



Series: Routinely Rejecting Happiness [1]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Deadpool (Comics), Marvel
Genre: Get Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Panic Attacks, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schizzar/pseuds/Schizzar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clint Barton is assigned to take down Deadpool, both he and Coulson know that there's no way he's walking away alive. But things are never that simple, because no one ever seems to take into account Deadpool's insanity. </p><p>Part of the Routinely Rejecting Happiness 'Verse, can be read as a stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Feet In The Air

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, just a look into how Clint and Coulson got together and how Clint and Wade met. Hope this story isn't too confusing. Peter and Matt's story is one the way, followed by a third installment that follows the Longer You Fall.

Clint lined up his shot, checking the wind speed and adjusting accordingly. The man was chatting with one of his students, sitting on the edge of his desk. He didn't know why SHIELD wanted him dead; he seemed pretty harmless after all, but it wasn't his place to question.

"Ah, can't let you do that," a voice said.

Clint spun, releasing the arrow neatly into the man's heart. Except the man didn't even twitch, just tilted his head to the side. He was clothed in a body suit of red and black, an assortment of weapons on his back and ringed around his waist. The man pulled the arrow out, not at all disturbed by the flesh still clinging to the arrowhead. "Want this back?"

"Nah, keep it." Clint drew his gun. "Who the hell are you?"

"Deadpool, at your service if you have money, booze, and babes." The man spread his arms wide. Blood pumped sluggishly from the hole in his chest. "And that man hired me to make sure he doesn't get killed."

"Uh-huh. Well I'm going to finish up my job." Clint whirled, firing his gun and nailing his mark between his eyes.

"Nice shot," Deadpool said.

Clint turned back around, gun still aimed at the man's head. "Thought you were going to stop me."

"Man paid me in advance. You moved too fast for me to stop you. Nothing to cry over." The man shrugged and turned around. "It helps that you're prettier."

"What?"

"Oh I didn't mean to insult his manhood. He's a big boy...aw, you just hate SHIELD boys...not as much as you do. Stupid yellow box." Deadpool turned back towards him.

"Are you talking to yourself?" Clint asked. His finger spasmed on the trigger.

"Not myself. The boxes."

"Boxes?"

"Oh right. You don't know. Well I'm off. See you around!" The man twiddled his fingers and leapt off the building.

Clint lowered his gun. "What the hell."

 

-.-

 

"Was it this man?"

Coulson turned his laptop towards Clint. The man from the night before was waving at the camera as he ran a SHIELD agent through the stomach.

"Yeah, that's him. Sir, he took one of my arrows to the chest and didn't even flinch. Who is he?" Clint asked.

Coulson turned the laptop back around. "He goes by Deadpool. His real name is Wade Wilson. And I'm guessing from what he said to you, you're his new obsession."

"He called me pretty," Clint said. "How does that warrant an obsession?"

"He said similar things to three other SHIELD agents. He killed them before the week was out," Coulson said.

"Jesus Christ," Clint hissed, then stiffened. "Sir."

"I'll let it slide this time. You are undoubtedly flustered by the news," Coulson said with a small nod.

"Why hasn't he been take out yet, sir?" Clint asked.

"We tried. Quite a few times. He is the closest thing to immortal we have seen since Wolverine," Coulson said.

"No offense intended sir, but why are you telling me this? Isn't it beyond my clearance level?"

"It would be, if he wasn't your next target. The higher ups decided it would be best if you had all the information we have on him."

"Sir, please answer me honestly. What are my chances of survival?"

"Not high."

"But you're going to send me anyways?" Clint asked.

"The order comes from higher up. I have no control over it."

Clint knew that. He knew that and yet when Coulson stared at him like he didn't even  _care_  that he had been given a death sentence, it felt oddly like betrayal. "Then I guess you should say goodbye now." He got to his feet and headed for the door. "Do I have access to all the information on Wade Wilson, sir?"

"Yes. I'm sorry Agent Barton."

"You're bad at faking emotion, sir. Stop trying." Clint slammed the door behind him. He tried to say on Coulson's good side, tried not to act out like a little brat, but it was difficult when the man said he was going to die. Said it like he didn't care.

 

-.-

 

He spent 6 hours compiling the important parts of Deadpool's file; possible weaknesses (not very promising), his strengths, the bits and pieces they knew of how he came into his powers. If Wolverine was more approachable, he supposed he would ask the mutant if there was a way to beat the healing factor. At least that's what they were all assuming the man had, it was the only explanation for his survival of bullets to the head, heart, being set on fire, being dunked in acid, and having literally a ton of concrete dropped on him.

The man was god damned immortal. No one had tried chopping him into pieces yet, but Clint worried that each him each piece would just spawn it's own full body and that wasn't something he wanted to chance.

"I'm going to die." Clint leaned back in his chair, staring at the computer monitor. "This sucks."

"So your codes name is Hawkeye. Makes you quite the pretty birdy." Deadpool dropped from one of the ceiling tiles, perching on the edge of his desk.

Clint drew his gun, aiming it at the assassin's head. Useless, but he needed to feel like he had some control over the situation. Somehow, even with the mask, Wade managed to look amused by his attempt.

"You do realize I'll kill you if you attempt to kill me again, yes?" Wade asked.

"I'm going to die anyways at this rate. Might as well get it out of the way."

"You SHIELD agents are all so dumb," Wade said, tsking as he shook his head. "Don't you see what they're doing?"

"Getting me killed," Clint said. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Doesn't seem the least bit odd to you?" Wade hopped down from the desk. "SHIELD hired me to take out agents that pissed them off. All well-liked agents too, so I'm told," Wade paused, head tiling to the left. "Pretty, yellow box. So worth it. Stop whining."

"You're doing that thing again," Clint said. "With the talking and the boxes and so on. Can we stay focused?"

"Trying to, yellow box is strangely persistent today." Wade flailed his hands in the air to his right. "Anyways. SHIELD can't kill you the normal way, so they wanted you to go after an immortal that would kill you for them."

The words were like multiple punches to his gut, a betrayal heaped on top of another. Not only did Coulson not care, but SHIELD wanted him dead. Then again, why was he even listening to the assassin? He was clearly insane, delusional. SHIELD had saved him, Coulson had saved him, they had no reason to so blatantly betray him. But they sent him on a mission they didn't expect him to survive. So maybe Wade was right.

"Why tell me any of this?" Clint asked.

"Because I don't want to kill you." Deadpool's voice sounded strained, as if he hated what he was saying.

Clint looked at him. "Why not? I'm just a SHIELD agent."

"The others weren't as interesting as you. I guess you could say I'm invested," Deadpool said with a shrug. "Also, they never made good on their promise of Russian hookers."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Deadpool shrugged again. "That was part of the deal for me to kill their renegade agents."

"I'm not a 'renegade' agent. Jesus, I'm one of the only agents that doesn't fuck up the missions. Until you came around and messed up my assassination. Guy was supposed to be feathered," Clint said. "They didn't tell you why they wanted me dead did they?"

"Just said you were a problem. Honestly, I don't give two fucks. I Just want to make sure you get out of this alive. Now accept my help before I change my mind."

"Yeah sure, okay. What are we doing?"

"Faking my death. With much fanfare. You're going to have to get creative, film it for proof, yada, yada."

"Where? And wouldn't they find it odd that I have a camera?" Clint asked.

"I'm not worrying about the technicalities. Either way, make it convincing."

"Wait a second. You're immortal. Mostly. They know that. How the hell do I make your death convincing?"

Wade shrugged. "No one's tried chopping me to bits yet. Go with that."

"And you'll survive that?" Clint asked. Given that was his only other idea before, he wasn't sure.

"Probably. Haven't tested it yet. It'll be a learning experience for us all," Deadpool said, glee in his voice as he hopped back up onto Clint's desk. "So where are we doing this?"

"Warehouse on 34th." It was one of his spots that he'd disappear to when the whole 'being a good little agent' got too annoying. Seemed to be a fitting place to trick the organization hell bent on backstabbing him.

"Good. See you there. Tomorrow. Whenever you feel like it," Wade said. He pushed one of the ceiling tiles up and back. "Oh, and I disabled the cameras so SHIELD won't know about this little conversation of ours. Ta-ta, Birdy!" The assassin tugged himself up into the ceiling, clicking the tile back into place just as a knock came at the door. He sat back down at his desk, grabbing some of his paperwork and sliding it in front of him.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and some agent he didn't recognize strode in, gun out. Clint held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "Easy there. Is something wrong?"

The agent shoved his gun back into his holster. "My apologies. The camera feed in this room went out. We were worried for your safety."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "It was probably just a technical error. Someone expecting me to have trouble in my office?"

"I don't know sir. Just following orders."

"Of course you are. Might want to worry about that technical failure of yours though," Clint said.

The agent gave a short nod and shut the door behind him as he left. Clint felt the tension drain out of him, pressing his face into his hands. He wondered if Coulson knew everything Deadpool had told him, or if he was also just following orders.

His jaw twitched, from anger or something else he didn't know. He'd have to talk to Coulson, somewhere that SHIELD wouldn't overhear.

 

-.-

 

"I hope you realize the risk I'm taking by being here."

Here being one of Clint's hideouts. The catwalk of a closed down music theater among the ropes and the rigging and the torn sceneries. It was familiar, though not quite the same as the circus.

"Thank you, Coulson. Did you check yourself for bugs?" he asked.

Coulson stood on the metal catwalk, hands behind his back the way he stood during any regular meeting. Clint could read his worry though, in the tense line of his shoulders. And why wouldn't he be? He had picked a place without light or an easy way out on purpose. On some level, Clint supposed he knew Coulson better than anyone else. Knew what would throw the man off even if it wasn't entirely visible on his face.

"I did everything you asked of me, Agent Barton. Now why am I here?"

"Getting to that." Clint leapt off the catwalk and slid down a rope to the theater floor. He found the switch for the work lights, and they flickered on, dim and hesitant. He was quick to get back to the catwalk. Coulson hadn't moved.

"Enough games, Agent. What is this about?" Coulson demanded. His jaw was clenched tight. He was starting to piss his handler off, and that wasn't good.

"Deadpool popped in to visit me today," Clint said.

Coulson gave no reaction.

"He said SHIELD hired him to kill me."

"He's delusional. You know that," Coulson said.

"Why would he say that then?" Clint asked.

He tried to read Coulson's reactions, but the man's expression was painfully blank. "What could he possibly gain from telling me that?"

"His life. Your doubt. If you doubt your orders, he might be able to walk away free."

"He's immortal! He knows I can't kill him!" Clint couldn't keep the anger, the venom out of his voice. "You're grasping at straws, Coulson, and you know it. The evidence is all around you and you just blind yourself to it. You're just going to let me die."

Clint stepped back, turning his face away from Coulson. "You know I will  _always_  follow your orders, Coulson. No matter what. You saved me. If you order me to walk to my death then god damn it I will. But you just need to realize that it's because someone higher up wanted me to die."

"You've deluded yourself, Agent Barton. You are not that important. If they wanted you dead, you would be. There would be no fanfare. This is not a circus. SHIELD does not have time for this. You're being paranoid."

Clint took a deep breath. "I wish I was. When have you ever known me to be paranoid? Name one time."

Coulson stared at him. "Agent Barton, for the sake of argument, let's say you're right and someone higher up on the power chain wants you dead. What would you have me do?"

"I don't know. Stop it from happening again. Ask Fury to launch an investigation."

"And what about you?"

"I'll think of something," Clint said.

Initially, he was going to tell Coulson about his plan with Deadpool, but now? After Coulson told him he was just being paranoid? He wasn't so sure that'd be the smartest move. Coulson had been his rock during his training, the motivating force behind his drive to gain promotion after promotion. When the other agents made him feel isolated and alone, Coulson made sure he still felt like he had a home. And now he was floundering with no sense of direction and all he wanted was Coulson to tell him what to do. Give him an order that made sense.

"Agent Barton. Agent. Calm down. Now."

When Coulson's hand touched his shoulder, he realized he was huddled against one of the railings of the catwalk. Realized how hard his heart was beating, how his vision was contracting and expanding with each breath. "Are you alright now?"

Clint tugged himself up so that he was at least sitting up properly. "Yes, sir. My apologies."

"No need. I am afraid I have not been as careful with you as I should have. You have become far too dependent on me. I should have you reassigned," Coulson mused, stepping away from him.

"Yeah, that'd fix me right up," Clint said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I'd be discharged immediately and you know it. You're the only one who gets my problems."

"Clint. Your dependence on me is unhealthy. But that's not what we're discussing right now. Your mission, Clint, is not SHIELD trying to assassinate you. You're an up and coming agent. Haven't missed a target yet, not even during practice. Perhaps this is a test to see if you can truly deliver."

Clint grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. "You said yourself it isn't likely I'll survive. So you think SHIELD is giving me a test that I'm going to fail? Why? Give me a logical reason for them to send me on this mission, unless they intend for me to die."

"It is not my place to question orders. Not for you, not for anyone," Coulson said.

Clint stepped passed him, hopping up onto one of the railings. "So you're just going to let me die then? Do you even care that I'm probably going to be dead by this time tomorrow? But wait, don't answer that." Clint straightened, one hand wrapping tightly around one of the ropes. "I know the answer. You don't give a damn if I die. The only reason you'd care even a little bit is because you would have to train someone new. In reality, I'm probably just a handful for you. I'm more trouble than I'm worth. This mission is probably heaven sent for you."

"Do not think for a moment you understand my emotions, Agent Barton. I am not happy about this situation. But I cannot do anything to change your orders. And I wish I could."

Clint leaned back into the ropes, absorbing what Coulson had said. It was the closest thing to admitting he actually cared, admitting that he wanted to disobey an order for  _Clint_ _._  "Why can't you?"

"I have a high clearance level. But it does not allow me to challenge orders. I will bring your worries and a few of my own to Director Fury. Surviving your encounter with Deadpool is on you," Coulson said quietly.

"So you believe me?" Clint's voice was barely above a whisper. He almost didn't want Coulson to answer, for if he did and told Clint once more that he was delusional, he wasn't sure if he could stay with SHIELD. No one else had faith in him. Coulson was the only one he tried to please, was the only one  _he_  cared about. The man had always said he would eventually come to see the rest of SHIELD as family. A large, highly dysfunctional family that would always, in the end, protect its members. No matter what.

But right now? He only had Coulson, and he couldn't trust the 'dysfunctional family' because it felt like he was about to be disowned. His sanity hinged on Coulson's answer. When had he turned into such a dramatic little butterfly?

"Yes. I believe you Clint. But I wish you were wrong. I  _hope_ you are wrong." Coulson walked past him, heading for the stairway that led down to the ground. "I will begin taking steps to protect you. Continue on with your mission." He paused, back still turned to the archer. "I am not stupid Clint. I know  _something_ happened between you and Deadpool. Watch your back."

"I will. Thank you, sir." Clint watched as the man made his way down the stairs and exited out the back door, sagging back into the ropes.

He let out a deep breath, twisting among the rigging, letting himself slide down only to climb back up. The actions made his muscles tremble from exertion, so eventually he began to twist and twine the ropes and rigging together until he had made a suitable nest, reclining back into it before staring up into the inky black.

"Hey there."

Clint jolted, arms tangling in the ropes. He glanced over to see the man wrapped up in his own mess of rigging. "Jesus, could you not do that?"

"Do what?" Deadpool twisted so he was hanging upside down, reaching into one of the pouches around his waist and pulling out-

"Burritos? Really?" Clint asked. His arms were trembling from the way he was holding himself up after Deadpool's entrance. He twisted the ropes a bit more so they were holding most of his weight before looking back at the man. The assassin had pushed his mask up so his mouth was exposed, taking large bites out of his food.

"What? I'm hungry," Deadpool said in between bites. "Anyways. Thought we should talk about tomorrow's showdown. You aren't squeamish are you?"

"I lived in a traveling circus. That's a no."

Deadpool's laugh was grating. "You're funny, Birdy. Knew I liked you for a reason."

The fact that the assassin's words didn't make him feel painfully uncomfortable was telling. "Don't take this the wrong way man, but you've been pretty lucid lately. Something change?"

"Needed the boxes to shut up so I could focus when we talk. They decided to be nice to me for once. You should be grateful." Deadpool gave a firm nod and tucked the half eaten food away before flipping right side up.

For a brief moment, Clint's eyes caught sight of the scars that marred the man's chin and mouth, but then Deadpool was pulling the mask back into place.

"Okay, I'm grateful. Am I still cutting you to bits?" Clint asked.

Deadpool nodded. "SHIELD will have you on the comm ear piece thingy right?"

"Yeah," Clint said.

"Oh good. I'll scream a lot, beg for mercy, so on so forth," Deadpool said. "Think that'll be proof enough?"

"Should be," Clint said. "What about when you turn up again?"

"Hm?"

"If SHIELD really wants me dead, when you show up again, they'll know I failed. Hell, they'll still try and knock me off with or without your help."

"I'm smarter than I look, Birdy. If I die, I'm released from my contract," Deadpool said. "And with what you're going to be doing? I'll be clinically dead for at least five minutes. Then SHIELD will change my status to deceased. When I show up again, poof, contract gone, I can do what I want."

"Thought you already were doing what you wanted," Clint said.

Deadpool shrugged, managing to look disgruntled without any facial expressions visible. "They may or may not have something of mine that I won't be able to get back until they think I'm dead."

Clint couldn't stop the laugh that built up, shaking his head as he did. "SHIELD managed to steal something from you?"

"Yes. It happens. But you're missing my point. Without the contract, I can protect you."

"That's such a load of bullshit," Clint said. "You're a selfish bastard, why the hell would you bother killing off agents SHIELD would send to kill me?"

"Already told you. You're a pretty Birdy. And my current obsession. I protect my obsessions," Deadpool said.

Clint pushed himself up, twisting through the ropes until he had landed once more on the catwalk. "And what about when I'm no longer your obsession?"

"Oh, you'll always be my obsession Birdy. At least until you die," Deadpool says. "Can't protect you from everything. You all die eventually."

"Morbid. I can't believe I'm trusting you with my life at all, let alone an extended period of time. You're the last person I should trust," Clint said, leaning against the railing.

"But I'm the only one you can trust," Deadpool said.

"That's not as reassuring as you might think."

"Look, I don't have long. I'm a busy man. Tomorrow? Don't chicken out. Just keep doing whatever. Keep on cutting."

Clint's stomach turned on itself. "Will you actually be in any pain?"

"Oh loads, but I'm quite used to it," Deadpool said, swinging through the ropes and landing beside Clint on the catwalk.

"That was not reassuring either," Clint said.

"Not meant to be. I've got my body at war with itself. Cancer plus the healing factor, not so fun. Quite painful. Quite literally scarring. Whatever you do to me is a walk in the park," Deadpool said.

A gloved hand reached out and tapped his cheek. Clint stepped back. "Either way. Thank you. For letting me do this."

"If it was a problem I'd just kill you and be done with it." Deadpool leapt back out into the rigging, slipping away into the darkness. "See you tomorrow Birdy!"

The ropes swung through the air long after Deadpool disappeared. Clint twisted them into a hammock of sorts to sleep in, letting his trembling muscles give out as he reclined in them. Shutting his eyes in the SHIELD compound was no longer an option. The safest place for him now was 20 feet off the ground. The mighty had fallen.

 

-.-

 

Contrary to what other SHIELD agents thought, Clint was not a mindless drone incapable of coming up with his own plans. SHIELD had noticed him for a reason after all. He had picked the perfect place to take the other assassin out. For the most part, the warehouse he had sent Deadpool to was abandoned, but the owner clearly intended to use it again for it still had a decent amount of running security cameras, and Clint had long ago figured out every blind spot in the building, so it was easy to fake the assassin's death.

When he was done with the most gruesome work, he shoved the assassin's body parts into a black trash bag and began to carry it towards the metal trashcan on the opposite side of the warehouse. The blind spot was small, but there he had placed a bag of road kill to swap out with the one that held Deadpool, so the remains would look relatively human if there was anything left. Not that he planned for there to be.

After placing the bag in the trashcan, he doused it in a gallon of gasoline, making sure to add a few exploding, highly illegal chemicals to ensure there would be nothing left. He drew a grappling hook arrow, shooting it up towards one of the support beams directly above the bag that held Deadpool's mutilated remains. He lit a match and tossed it into the can, engaging the hook to reel him up. Barely a second later, the can exploded, sharp metal fragments whizzing past him, a few nicking his arms and one burying itself in his shoulder.

So he hadn't thought that part through all the way.

Once the choking smoke had sufficiently filled the room, he dropped beside the bag holding Deadpool. It was only by landing beside it that he was able to grab it and it was by memory that he was able to get out of the warehouse, the smoke too dark to see more than a foot in front of him, too thick for the cameras to pick up anything. He escaped over into the alleyway, free of security cameras, and ripped the comm out of his ear, shoving it in his pocket so all anyone would hear would be fabric against the mic. He set the bag down and leaned down beside it.

"Deadpool?" he asked, nudging the bag. "You alive?"

"Just got the vocal chords back. What's up?"

Clint decided not to mention how relieved he was to hear that the assassin was healing up. He wasn't sadistic. He didn't  _like_ hurting people, preferring quick kills with an arrow to the brain. Not what he had to do to Wade.

"I have to go check the cameras, make sure everything checks out fine. Where do you want me to put you?"

"Dumpster is fine."

Clint winced. "God I'm sorry about all this."

"Nice feelings you got there. Put me in the frickin' dumpster and go do your job."

Clint obeyed, ignoring the ache in his shoulder as he did so. Once Deadpool was taken care of, he put the comm back in, coughing as he did so. "Agent Hawkeye here. Going back in to see if there's anything left."

"Very good agent. We're sending a team to extract you. Please be on the roof of the building in t minus two minutes." Coulson's voice helped steady him, focus him to actually finish the job. When he looked over the footage, he was surprised at how realistic it looked. Perhaps it was because half way through the fight, he really thought Wade was going to kill him, and he realized that when Wade swung the samurai sword down towards his neck, it was only sheer luck of bringing his bow up in time to block the blow that he survived. Maybe depending on a not entirely lucid assassin wasn't the smartest idea but they were okay now.

He tapped the comm. "The building has security cameras. Can you have a team extract it?"

"A team is en route to do so already, Agent Hawkeye."

Clint continued to watch the display, blood pumping in his ears, loud as he watched his own hand begin the messy business of cutting the assassin up. Something akin to panic began to rise in his chest, and he wrenched himself away from the monitor, heading for the stairs that would lead him to the rooftop and away from whatever inhuman thing he had allowed himself to commit for his own safety.

_It's like you're not even human anymore._ The thoughts circled endlessly in his head as he pulled himself into the quinjet, made invisible by reflection panels as it took off and headed back to headquarters. _You'd do anything to keep living, wouldn't you?_ His mind was numb as he went through debriefing.  _Kill, torture, maim._  He answered all the questions asked of him even as the mental movie of slicing the man up played over and over in his head without permission.  _That's why you accepted this job isn't it?_ Without stop.  _Because somewhere deep down you actually_ don't mind _what you're doing._

"Agent Hawkeye, I want to see you in my office please."

Clint's gaze darted over to where Coulson stood next to the man who had been debriefing him. It was the first time his handler had spoken since the debriefing began, and when their eyes met, he felt his chest tighten and for a moment he couldn't breath. Coulson had the ability to give him a look and practically suppress all of his emotions so that he was incapable of freaking out, but the look almost made it worse this time around.

"Yes, sir," Clint said, rising to his feet. He gave the usual nod to the other man and then followed Coulson down the hall to his office, remaining standing when Coulson went and sat down at his desk.

"Sit," Coulson ordered.

Clint obeyed, sitting down across from him. "Sir, I..."

Coulson leaned back in his chair. "Something is wrong and I want you to tell me what it is."

The order succeed in calming him further, even as some part of his brain screamed at him that he was just another part of the well-oiled machine, willing to obey any order. "I tortured a man."

"You knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this job," Coulson said. "Why was this different?"

"He's Deadpool. He's immortal, but he let me kill him. Do that to him. So that SHIELD wouldn't get angry that I missed a mark. Sure he fought me, but then I...he could've stopped me," Clint said quietly, unable to look at Coulson. "But he let me do it anyways. Let me..."

"Clint. You did your job. That doesn't make you a bad person. Cutting up the immortal and burning the remains? That was smart. SHIELD will certainly give you a raise for it," Coulson said.

"Dammit Coulson, I'm not you!" Clint got to his feet, fist slamming down onto the desk. "I am not a god damned robot who is willing to watch his agents die because SHIELD has a hit on them!"

"Agent Hawkeye, sit down," Coulson ordered. "SHIELD did have a hit on you. Did. Fury and I found it the moment you completed the kill. When Wade Wilson died, any previous hidden information about him popped up, including a contract made by one of the Councilmen to kill you and several other agents. He has been detained. You are safe now."

"So I mutilated a man for no god damn reason?" Clint demanded, limbs locking and refusing to let him obey Coulson's order. "God dammit, Coulson this changes nothing. You still let me walk into this without giving a damn that I would die. And I can't even handle what I did to that man because it was inhuman, and not what I signed up for, and then you have the nerve to say I did a  _good job._ That I'll get a raise for chopping a man into pieces. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Clint swallowed thickly, pulling away from the desk as his hands continued to clench into fists. He had never lost his cool around Coulson. It wasn't something that he did, and now he wasn't sure if Coulson was going to send him to the psych ward or outright have him fired.

"Clint, before you embarrass yourself further by saying things that aren't true, may I speak?"

The remaining anger curling in Clint's chest evaporated and he gave a short nod, slumping in the chair.

"Now, the investigation is ongoing, but so far we know that your suspicions were correct, and this particular individual was trying to get revenge. On me."

Clint frowned. "Sir?"

Coulson got up, beginning to pace slowly behind his desk. "I am where I am because I have the most impressive ability of  _acting_ like I don't care. I make calls my coworkers balk at because that is my job and I know my protests will almost never be anything but damaging."

"Coulson-" Clint fell silent when Coulson held up a hand.

"One of my calls got this particular person's son killed. As retribution, it seems they began to take out agents under my care. The only reason we didn't notice this oddity is because a few of the agents were transferred to someone else just as the orders went through. It wasn't until our talk that I discovered this. So, as you now see, I care too much about those I am responsible for. I don't ever want to hear you say I don't  _care_  again." He came to stand in front of Clint, staring down at him.

"I'm sorry, Coulson. I...didn't realize how many agents you had lost," Clint said quietly. He looked away from Coulson's gaze, overwhelmed for once by the intensity in his eyes, not the coldness.

"It's the nature of the job. That doesn't mean I didn't mourn every loss," Coulson said. "You mean very much to me Clint, I am just awful at expressing it. I am sorry if I made you feel as if you were worthless. I know you joined SHIELD to get rid of that feeling, and I have not been sensitive to that."

"Coulson, stop please." Clint felt something akin to guilt building within him. It felt too much like Coulson was apologizing for caring, like the man was blaming himself for the pain Clint felt.

"No, Clint. You need to hear these things now, before I make it worse," Coulson said firmly. "I want you to be able to come to me if something about a job feels off to you. I want you to be able to trust me to take care of you when you can't take care of yourself. I refuse to let you down the way I did this time."

Clint started down at his hands in his lap. Coulson's voice was ridden with guilt and an almost begging note for forgiveness that tugged at Clint's heart and left him breathless. "I do trust you, Coulson. You're the only one I trust."

"I wonder if I deserve such loyalty."

"You do. You went digging for answers, didn't you? I...think that's answer enough for why I trust you."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

_Because I don't want to look into your eyes and see that it's all some weird twisted lie. Because I know I'm not worthy of the faith you seem to have in me and because I'm so close to becoming a less than human machine willing to torture a man for my own survival, torture a man who saved my life, who wants to protect me._ "Because I don't deserve the care you give me."

"You're wrong Clint, and I'm sorry I cannot prove it to you."

Coulson's hand fluttered at his jaw, and Clint leaned into it, allowing himself a moment of comfort at the touch before standing up and stepping away.

"I trust you to take care of me, even if I don't deserve it. That's all we need to work together," Clint said.

"Of course." Coulson's tone was disappointed and made Clint want to beg for a way to make that disappointment go away. Instead, he stepped further away, closer to the door.

"Are we done, sir?"

"Yes, Agent Barton. We're done."

 

-.-

 

Two days later found Clint wrapped up in his nest of ropes, staring into the inky darkness above him. He and Coulson had yet to talk again, but he wanted to. It was difficult though, because they had never talked the way they had a few days ago. Coulson just knew most everything from Clint's past and had adjusted most of his behavior accordingly. Like knowing when to let Clint carry a mission out his own way, and when to give orders. Knowing that Clint needed to pass control to someone else after a mission because he didn't trust himself so by the time the mission was over, he was a bundle of anxious nerves.

It was all things Coulson just acted on. There was never a talk about why. And now they were talking about Clint's issues because Coulson had fumbled for the first time.

"You know what sucks? Being stuck in a dumpster as you regenerate," Wade said. He was sitting beside Clint's head, managing once more to slip up silently beside him. "But hey, I'm alive, and the hit on you is gone, so everyone wins."

"Fantastic," Clint said, jerking to the side as Wade wormed his way into the nest beside him.

"Look, Birdy, I like you. You seem like the type who has lots of feelings, probably feeling pretty guilty about what you did. But don't, because I asked you to do it, and I wasn't hurt too bad," Wade said. "And I don't want my Birdy feeling emotionally distraught."

"Uh, thanks Wade. I still find your obsession mildly disconcerting," Clint said. "And I'm still not sure my life was worth what I put you through."

It was so easy to be honest with Wade, perhaps because he knew that beyond the rare lucid moments, Wade was entirely psychotic and wouldn't be offended by anything he said.

"Your care for my well-being is touching. Must be why white box and I like you so much. You aren't part of SHIELD's well-oiled machine."

"You sure?" Clint asked. He turned his head to look at the other assassin. "I still cut you up. I still follow my orders."

"I'm still alive," Wade said. "You don't follow the orders that don't sit well with you. You cling to your humanity, and don't try and hide it. We like that about you. And of course it helps that you're pretty."

"Jesus, Wade, I'm not  _pretty_."

"Gorgeous!" Wade said in a sing-song voice, rolling so that he could squish Clint's face in between his hands.

"Oh my God, off," Clint ordered, shoving the man aside. "Can we not do the touching thing?"

"Aw, Birdy, why not? White box, it totally was not a 'bad touch'." He began to reach towards Clint again, but the archer knocked his hands away.

"White box does not need an example of a bad touch," Clint said. "Hands to your-"

Wade cut him off by wrapping firmly around him and nuzzling his neck. "Shush, you're my Birdy, I'll do what I want. No bad touch though."

"Uh, thanks," Clint said, then returned the man's odd hug half-heartedly. "So when SHIELD realizes you're still alive, you think you'll end up with another hit on you?"

"Meh, probably," Wade said with a shrug. "I'm not concerned."

"You realize you and I can't be allies right? You'll end up killing my coworkers," Clint said. "And if worst comes to worst, I'll have to try and kill you again. And of course, fail."

"Well, I won't kill you if you get assigned to me," Wade said. "Your coworkers though? If you can even call them that. I make no promises."

"Of course they're my coworkers," Clint said.

"Whatever you say Birdy. So I take it you don't want me around anymore?" The assassin released him. "Conflict of loyalties and all that?"

"I'm sorry. You've done a lot for me, but this isn't something I can do," Clint said.

"Nah, I get it. Yellow box still doesn't think you're worth it but I'm in charge...do shut up, like I'd ever let you have control...that was one time!" Wade reached out and grabbed one of the rigging ropes, pulling himself out of the nest. "I won't show up again, but I'll have your back when you really need my help."

"Thank you."

"No problem Birdy." Wade gave a short, two-fingered wave before vanishing into the dark.

Clint sighed, flopping back into his nest, only to hear the steady thunk of someone making their way up the staircase to the catwalk. He popped back up, genuinely surprised to see Coulson standing on the metal walkway, not in a suit, but jeans and an old college sweatshirt. The work lights didn't provide enough to see the logo or Coulson's expression clearly.

"Coulson?"

"Caught some of that conversation," Coulson said. "But I'm here as a civilian. Not an agent. I won't tell anyone about what I just heard."

Clint swallowed thickly. "Thank you, sir."

"I told you. I'm here as a civilian. Do you mind if I join you?"

"You want to hang out twenty feet above the ground in a nest of old ropes that could break at any time?" Clint asked.

"Why not? Deadpool did."

"He can't die."

"You can. And you're there."

"I made it though. If it breaks and I die, that's my own fault."

"But if it breaks and I die?"

"Still my fault." Clint gave Coulson a sardonic grin. "Sir, are you trying to psychoanalyze me?"

Clint wasn't sure, but he thought Coulson was smiling back at him. "Sorry, it's a bit of a habit. But I won't go out there if you don't trust yourself with my life. But I want you to be aware that I'm willing to take that risk. I learned my lesson. Trust goes both ways."

The archer mulled over the words. If the words came from anyone else, he'd think they were corny and cheesy, but this was Coulson, and Coulson didn't do corny and cheesy.

"Yeah, I guess it does," he conceded.

He didn't mention what the added strain of having Coulson legitimately trust him would do to him, but it must have read on his face.

"Clint, you know I won't expect more from you then what you can give. And you know I won't depend wholly on your opinion. But the more you get promoted, the more decisions will rest on  _your_  shoulders. The more people will trust you to make the right call. So we'll start small, with just me. I'm only one person. It isn't a big deal."

Clint's smile was horribly strained. "You having trust in me is a very big deal Coulson."

"Call me Phil. And it really isn't a big deal." Clint knew Coulson was strong, but watching the man effortlessly pull himself through the mess of ropes and lowering into the nest was surprising.

They sat side by side, the nest swinging in an almost lazy manner from Phil's landing. For awhile, they didn't speak, and eventually Clint reclined back, curling up on his side.

"Do you sleep here?" Phil asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Sometimes. When headquarters become too...stifling," Clint said.

Phil slid down to curl on his side, facing the archer. "What did you do when you were a part of the circus? When things became too stifling?"

Clint shrugged. "Lot of different places to hide. Usually where they kept the horses or elephants. Not high up but it was easy to hide."

"Guess that was back when your wings were still clipped huh?" Phil smiled at him.

"Didn't think you were the type to go for the cheesy bird metaphors,  _Phil_ ," Clint said, but he smiled back regardless.

"What can I say? It's a fitting metaphor for you," Phil said with a small smile.

"Haha."

"You trust me, don't you, Clint?"

Clint glanced at him, eyebrow crooking up. "Baby steps please. Still trying to get used to the fact that you care about me. Let's not push me trust issues." He twisted away and flopped onto his back.

"We already are dealing with a matter of trust, Clint." Phil's voice was soft and he jerked away when the other's knuckles brushed along his jaw. "You wouldn't have let me in here if you didn't trust me, and I wouldn't be out here if I didn't trust you to build something to hold the both of us."

"Phil, what are you trying to say?"

"That I trust you with my life. Even if you don't quite trust yourself." Phil's hand slid down to the curve where his neck met his collarbone. "Remember when I told you SHIELD is one big dysfunctional family?"

Clint bit back the immediate snarky retort, settling for staring down at Phil's chest. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well you're the reason I stay instead of disowning them all. Or rather, people like you are why I stay. SHIELD has its ugly parts, but there's good too."

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say," Clint said.

Phil gave a soft huff of a laugh, tugging the archer closer so their foreheads were pressed together. It made something warm curl in his chest, and he felt himself shifting so he could tuck his face into Phil's neck.

"I never was the best with words. SHIELD agents aren't known for their charisma," Phil said. His hand slid down to rest in the middle of Clint's back. "But I'm trying to say that when you can't trust anyone else, even yourself, trust me. I won't let you mess up. Won't let you fall."

"Thank you," Clint said quietly. He wiggled closer, throwing an arm over Phil's waist.

Clint was a man that craved touch, but didn't let anyone he didn't trust do so. Phil was the only one he could even imagine trusting, and before now, the man had seemed entirely inaccessible, so since joining SHIELD, he starved himself of the touch he desired.

But now Phil, the only functional part of the dysfunctional SHIELD family, was holding him close and making every part of him thrum with a lazy, contented pleasure.

"I think we should change your codename."

Clint pulled back a bit. "Why?"

Phil's laughter was a bit louder than before, and he tugged Clint back to tuck him against his neck. "You've only been nuzzling my neck like an overgrown cat for five minutes. Not that I mind."

Clint smiled against his neck, then lightly caught the skin between his teeth, nibbling until he coaxed another laugh out of the man. The only natural progression was for Phil to fit his lips over Clint's and give him a slow, deep, mind-numbing kiss that had the archer half hard and aching against the other's thigh.

Phil broke the kiss but didn't pull away. "Let me take care of you. You've got too much energy and nowhere for it to go."

"Never took you for one to break the rules," Clint said, but even as he spoke he was rocking his hips against Phil's thigh, lips sliding over the older's jaw.

"I'm your handler Clint. And I care about you as a person, not just an agent. That means I take care of you," Phil said. His hand slid down over Clint's hip, drifted over his crotch for a light squeeze before returning back to his hip. "So roll over."

It was an order, and Clint obeyed it without further hesitation, not even flinching as the nest swayed dangerously in the air. Then Phil was on him, his kiss biting and hard, nothing like the first one, and Clint knew he should be worried about what they were doing, where they were doing it, but that was what Phil was for. Phil took care of all the details, Clint just had to lay back and-

"S-Sir!"

Phil's hand around his cock was warm, he hadn't even noticed the man tugging the zipper down and shoving a hand inside. His hands slid up to twist together around Phil's neck as the older began to pump his hand, focusing mainly on teasing the head and rolling his balls until Clint was trembling in his grip.

Then he was pulling away and Clint keened at the loss, hands groping for the man to come back. Phil's hand moved to the front of his mouth, his lips pressed to Clint's ear.

"Get it wet, don't want this to hurt."

Clint obeyed mindlessly, tongue lapping over Phil's palm, in between his fingers until it was wet, and then the hand was back on his cock, stroking in full sure strokes that had him bucking his hips. The fact that they were twenty feet in the air should have scared him, but Phil had tucked him close, maneuvering them once more so that Clint was resting on top of him, the only constant being Phil's grip on him.

"Don't worry about anything," Phil murmured, lips pressing to his jaw, his neck. "I've got you, don't think, you don't need to think. I'm here, I'll take care of you. Always, not going to let anything hurt you."

The words rolled over Clint, making something constrict in his chest even as he rushed towards his orgasm. It was embarrassing how quick it washed over him, but Phil never ceased his soothing words and motions, letting the archer spill between them. As Clint collapsed against him, he was sure the man made an off hand comment about how he'd have to make it home with come all over his clothes, but he was too exhausted to care.

And he might have been crying a bit but that was just a natural reaction to stress relief, had to be. After a few moments of gently swaying in the nest, hands roaming sleepily over one another, Phil kissed his cheek.

"I want you to know that you can reject me," Phil said quietly.

"Hmph, why would I do that?" Clint asked, nuzzling against the man's neck. "You just gave me something I've been wanting for a long time. Haven't let anyone touch me in...a long time."

Phil made a discontented noise and pulled him closer. "I don't like how much I care about you Clint, but I suppose it is something we'll have to adjust to. Don't...don't ever doubt that I do care about you. You before anyone else."

Clint didn't like the way that made his chest feel, so he ignored it, instead pressing a kiss to Phil's jaw. He...had strong feelings for Phil, and when the man had practically thrown them back in his face, it hurt. But to know that it had all been a lie, that Phil did care about him, did want to take care of him, make sure he was okay, want to hold him, kiss him, it seemed to good to be true.

It was too much to think about, too soon. So he just clung onto the man, floating twenty feet in the air.

 

 


End file.
